


Pigment

by Davechicken



Series: The Pilot and his Knight [87]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Lipstick, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 04:05:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9218180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: Kylo is drunk, happy, and covered in lipstick.





	

Kylo is tipsy, and happy, and wearing heels. For no other reason than he found someone with feet his size, and decided to swap footwear. It’s the anniversary of _that day_ , and everyone is celebrating. Kylo is in heels, and Poe is even _further away_ , and this is _hilarious_. 

Poe thinks it is slightly less hilarious. This is a shame, because Kylo can really balance in heels, and he dances quite a lot before Poe finally joins him. They trip the light until it’s definitely gone, and stagger back to their home.

Home. It’s safe. It’s been safe a _year_. They won. They really, really won.

Poe goes to say goodnight to BB-8, and Kylo makes his excuses to go to their bedroom. He stands - heels kicked off - in front of the mirror. 

Sometimes he likes to do this. He remembers the snatches of footage of his grandmother as a young woman, remembers thinking how elegant she was. He’d gone through a phase of staring longingly at makeup, but he’d never plucked up the courage until many years later. One night, when they’d been playing dress-up, Kylo had sloppily painted a stripe over his lips, and Poe had smudged it under his own.

The small, red pipe of paint still sits in the ‘fresher cabinet, for occasions such as this. 

Even drunk, his hand doesn’t wobble too much, and he sweeps a full kiss around his lips, trying to fill each inch. He purses them, and then slips the cosmetic back away and opens the door to see Poe waiting for him.

“One of those nights, babe?”  


There’s no judgement, just an open adoration and appreciation. Poe always indulges his tastes, and he never feels shy for more than a minute. He nods, and walks with a sway of his hips until he reaches Poe. “Want to leave traces of where I’ve been.”

“I’m your willing canvas, love.”  


Lower down without the heels, he still towers over his husband as his arms drape over his shoulders. He feels as giddy as the first time they kissed, all over again. The magic never fades, although sometimes it co-exists with other things. He starts at Poe’s temple, not lingering too long so he doesn’t waste the pigment all at once. Down, over the side of his face, stroking over lips and not letting Poe steal a real kiss. 

A foot between his, kicking Poe’s legs apart, forcing him to sit on the edge of the bed. Kylo drops to kneel before him, his hands on the other man’s knees pushing them open, and gazing up.

Poe pushes his hair back to see his face, smiling down at him. “You know I love your mouth, baby.”

“I do,” Kylo agrees, and drags his thumbnail over the join between two fabric teeth. Harder, and then his fingers push up behind his balls, pressing them into the seam.  


“Oh… _Maker_ …”  


Kylo bashes his head into the hand touching his hair, purring and then finding the zip to slide it down, and tugs Poe’s happy-to-see-him out. 

It _is_ happy to see him. Very happy to see him. Kylo purrs even _louder_ , and rubs his cheek all over the shaft, eyes shut and enjoying the slide of it across his slightly-stubble-rough cheek. (Maybe he should have shaved, but the hiss is worth it.)

“I fucking love you, you know?” Poe is drunk, and so - like all drunks - he talks exactly as he thinks. “I mean. Really. I really fucking love you.”  


“I know,” Kylo whispers, and gazes up with open, utter adulation. “I love you, too.”  


“I mean: I _really_ love you. Like… Kylo, you don’t KNOW. How could you? How could you know?”  


“Trust me, I do.” He forestalls any more declarations by opening his bright red lips and sliding them down to the crop-dust of hair. Warm, Human, and pulsing. Alive in his mouth, and he loves to feel Poe’s whole body tense as he fights the urge to thrust.  


“I love you, fuck, fuck - Kylo I nearly didn’t get you, I’m so sorry, I love you so much sometimes I think I might just die–”  


Normally it’s Kylo making these drama-queen declarations, but the alcohol has loosened Poe’s tongue. And Kylo’s. Loosened it in the sense that it draws flight-paths underneath his shaft, plotting a course his stained mouth then follows. Over and tighter and slicker and firmer and looser and hummier. Every trick he can apply, and then there’s hands pulling at his hair.

 _It’s okay. Use me._ He loves it.

Poe takes the permission at once, holding the back of his head and thrusting into his mouth. Kylo flicks his eyes up, watching the utter rapture on Poe’s face, and gulping his mouth clean when he thinks Poe’s about to spurt. 

 _Come. Come for me. I want to taste you_.

Thick, sweet release and he forgets to feel for a moment as he concentrates on taking it all down inside. Slurp. Slurp. Swallow. He smacks his now-pink lips, and sits back, watching Poe’s cock drop in satisfaction.

A thumb - Poe’s - drags the rest of the paint away. “Come kiss me.”

Kylo pushes him onto his back, and does just that.


End file.
